All Mixed Up
by crackers4jenn
Summary: Before Lessons. Spike had to get to that school basement somehow, right?


Home sweet bloody home.

Real ironic then that he's standing outside of Buffy's house. Real amusing too that he's leaning up against his favorite tree, comfortable as he deeply inhales around his lit cigarette. Real bloody typical as it starts to rain. Should probably leave, maybe stomp out the cigarette and find some place dry, but he can't find it in him to care. Let the rain fall. Who bloody cares.

He watches her from outside. Buffy, of course. Sees her through the curtain of their living room. It's not pulled back all the way, exposing the inside of the Summers' house to him and anyone else who happens to pass by. Bloody stupid on her part. Doesn't she know of the beasties lurking about, just looking for a weakness in the Slayer's armor? Oh, well. Too comfortable to care. Plus... gives him the chance to see her. _Her_, and not just shadows dancing behind the blinds.

She's alone, too. Like that's surprising.

He came for a reason actually. To get his duster back. He'd left it there that last visit of his and now wanted the thing back. 'Course, that visit was months and an attempt at rape ago - but he still wanted it all the same. He was all set to knock on her door and ask for it, too. Then remembered that that was bloody stupid and would just end up with him as a pile of dust because of said attempted rape. Was gonna leave then. Pretty pointless in just standing on her front porch, basking in his lack of balls. But then another little reminder kicked in and he remembered, that - ohh, that's right. He didn't have a place to go.

Just recently back from a trip to Africa, all souled up. Whoda thunk. Spike with a soul. God, he was such a ponce. All that stuff he'd ever ragged Angel on, and look at him - loaded down with a bleeding soul.

And waking up inside that cave was fun, too. After he'd first got the thing zapped into him. And, yeah - zapped. So anticlimactic. Was expecting something a bit more fancy. Show, maybe. Song and dance. Pretty little demon doing the job, coming down from above, all glowing and heavenly. Harp playing in the background; some sad, tinkly music. Inspirational speech being given about the path he'd no doubt be embarking on. Some namby-pamby rot like that.

And instead he'd got Sparky feeling him up.

He knew he'd had him go shirtless for a reason... Just hoping to cop a feel. 'Course this 'feel' also came with a soul, so Spike wasn't complaining. Or... actually - he _was_. He woke up on the floor in that bleeding cave, bruised and burnt from previous trials and tribulations, no big hurrah. No sign from the Powers that Wank, pleased with his drift into Poof-dom. No congratulatory party for a job well done. Nothing. He woke up sore as hell. Woke up feeling like he'd spent the previous night with a few different bottles of JD. Woke up and, aside from the physical pain, didn't really feel any different. Felt sorta... congested, actually.

He'd hopped on the earliest cargo plane back to the States he could get, figuring that he'd had a nice pretty present to show off to a certain Slayer in Sunnydale. Got a bit bored and imagined her reactions a hundred different ways over during that trip. Happy, maybe, at first. Imagined huge smiles and wide arms and willingly parted knees. Declarations of the love he'd figured she'd soon be acknowledging. Then admitted that that one was a bit of a stretch seeing as his Slayer wasn't big with the open emotions.

Settled then into the visual of her shocked as he told her. Imagined he'd tell her about his soul in a dramatic way, unlike the git who'd given it to him in the first place. Tell her his tale. Start from the beginning, with an apology. Tell her he was sorry about what he'd done that night... never meant to do it, he'd only wanted her to feel what he felt, what he was sure she felt, too. And he hated himself for doing it, which... wasn't entirely true. Hated it yeah, but... he hated that he'd hated it. But he'd skip past that omission and tell her instead that he'd got it for her. Traveled all the way to Africa, risking unlife and jetlag, to earn it. And he'd make sure to point out that he _did_ earn it. No Gypsy curse with inconvenient loopholes. No punishment. No clause that'd kick in if she decided to give him some of that perfect happiness. His soul. _His_.

But then... that was too noble. Too ponce-like for him. Showing up at her house, white flag raised, white hat donned, ready to blindly follow her just because he now had the thing. Ready to break out the gel and spike his hair just so, to toss away the Sex Pistols and Ramones and break out the Manilow. Buy himself a pair of lifts and perfect his furrowed brow look.

No bloody way. He wasn't going to be Ponce the Second. He wasn't going to be Angel-lite, following in the Poof's footsteps, so that scratched out that reunion of choice.

By the time the plane had landed he'd decided that it would be pointless, anyway. The soul had finally kicked in, doing its whole doom-and-gloom thing as he finally realized how completely clueless he really was. He'd got the soul for her, and honestly? She wouldn't give two fucks about it. Hell, he probably should've had that bit of an epiphany before he'd first made his way across the sodding ocean... But yeah, she wouldn't care. Why would she? Shiny new soul whispering all sorts of truths in his ear. Buffy didn't love him. Buffy had _never_ loved him, despite his need to prove otherwise. And he was such a sodding idiot to ever think she had. All them times he'd told her she did, _insisted_ that she did... and she hadn't. He hadn't even known. Too caught up in his own love for her to see what it was she was saying. Too caught up in his own twisted obsession to understand. She was good. She was pure. She was Heaven, and he was Hell. He was nothing. Less than nothing. Of course she didn't love him.

Still didn't stop him from showing up at her house. So much predictability in that it was disgusting. He knew she didn't love him, knew she'd break the little of what was left of his heart just as indelicately as she'd done before he'd left... but he still showed up. And to ask for his bloody coat back. God, he really was pathetic. What'd he think, he'd bypass the fun little fact that he'd tried to rape the woman he loved and hope against hope in a pathetically desperate way that she hadn't revoked his invitation? Maybe ask to be invited in for a warm cuppa, they could play 'normal' and she'd fix him some blood and they'd talk about the weather, skirting around the entire thing?

And bloody hell, now he was crying, and for no reason. Been doing that a lot lately and he figured it had something to do with the soul. Turned him into nothing but a spineless crying wanker. Crying, and over what? Little bit of rain? A sodden cigarette? The fact that he wasn't man enough to knock on her door and face her? That his duster -- the one he'd ripped off a dead Slayer's body, by the way, so how's that for irony -- was stuck inside her house and all he wanted was to get it back and have it and leave here, leave this house, this yard, this sodding town, and forget about the Slayer and just be _free_ of it all?

He'd never be free, though. He'd be tied to these feelings forever. And it was all her fault. Everything gone wrong in the span of the past few years of his pitiful existence, all stemmed from her. Dru leaving him? Buffy's fault. The fact that he wasn't an immortal, unkillable vampire right now with sparkling fashion sense of the Gem-of-Amara kind? Her fault. The bloody chip in his head that propelled him into his current state of wankery? The feelings, the pain, the heartache, the confusion and hatred and frustration -- it was all her fault. This sodding soul, with its uselessness, doing nothing that he'd wanted it to do? Her bloody fault.

And the bitch wouldn't even care about it. Would be too focused on what he'd last done to her to know, to _get_, what it was for.

He chuckled out loud, for no reason really, watching her as she turned out the lights in the living room. Heading on up to bed now. Slayer's needing their beauty rest and what-all. At least he wasn't crying anymore. Rain still came down lightly, but... he still didn't care. He was cold, but he couldn't tell if it was the cold from the rain, or the cold that'd set in since he landed in Sunnydale. The kind that chilled him to the bone, a constant reminder of what he was and who he'd never be, no matter of the spark burning inside.

Alright, and now he was spouting off the ponce-like brand of drivel Angel no doubt had memorized and quoted regularly.

With a frustrated sigh, he pushed off the tree and made his way off of Buffy's lawn. Quick, graceful steps that made him feel every bit like the Big Bad he was as he stomped away from her house, sodding his duster. She probably didn't have it, anyway. Would be a reminder of him and, hah - like she'd want one of those. His footsteps shortened as he remembered again that he didn't have any place to go. His crypt was probably home now to Clem, who he'd left in charge of it. And it wasn't like he had the dosh to find himself a new place to stay for the night either - a roundtrip to Africa wasn't exactly friendly on the wallet, and he'd only had a bit of cash before he'd left to begin with.

His steps carried him to his cemetery anyway, and he decided to just go with it. Go to his crypt, what does he care if Clem's there? Was his crypt to begin with. His stuff inside. Stuff that he'd knicked, anyway. Only he got there and found it empty. Which was probably the most depressing thing of the night. So... no 'Welcome Home' party, then?

"My Spike."

Spike whirled around at that familiarly cold voice. He stared deep into his crypt, squinting to see through the shadows. "Drusilla?"

She stepped out from the corner of his crypt, her lily white dress and pale skin brightly contrasted in the dark as she slowly came into view. "My Spike," she repeated louder, her hungry eyes landing on his. "My beautiful boy."

He tensed as she stepped towards him. What was, then? Fun new game being played on him? His entire unlife spent with her, she never wanted him - but saddle him up with a chip and a soul and suddenly she's here? Cosmic bloody joke.

"You're crying," she told him, a slight tone of wonder in her voice.

Fuck, again? "It's nothing," he told her distractedly, more interested in the fact that she was here than his own pansy tears. His voice softened in the way that it always did when he was talking to her, his accent deepening as he felt the familiar tug within from his Sire. "Dru, pet..."

"Shhh," she scolded playfully. "The stars... they've all been talking to each other. They're setting up for a dinner party, but all the seats have changed... no one knows where to sit."

"Love," he started again, only to be cut off when she held her finger to her mouth, silently quieting him.

She was standing in front of him now and he found it strange that he couldn't feel her. Nothing in him was going off, no sensing that this was his Dru. Bloody great - the soul was messing with him again, physically now. "You mustn't interfere. Your name isn't on the list, but you've invited yourself anyway." She scowled, her whole body going rigid. "Daddy won't be pleased."

Spike sighed. Of course. This was about Angel, what a bloody surprise. "Dru... why're you here?" he asked anyway.

Her eyebrows shot upwards and she smirked. "Am I here, Spike? Or... am I lost?" The grin disappeared just as quick as it'd come, replaced with thin lips and wide eyes as she looked around frighteningly. A wave of familiarity washed over him as he recognized this version in front of him. His Dark Princess, scared and relying so heavily on him, needing him. "I feel so lost, Spike... so horribly lost." Quick again, the scared look faded, turning into something colder, harder. "But not as lost as you. You're glowing, did you know?"

Her matter-of-fact tone shocked him a bit, but he still wasn't hearing anything of interest. "As fun as this is, love--"

"All bright and orange," she kept on saying, staring at him like he'd grown a second head, as she rotated her hips, swaying to a song only she heard. "Can you see it around you? There was terrible confusion before. I thought it was the Slayer, but this is wrong." She whimpered then, her body relaxing as she curled into herself. "Terribly, terribly wrong... Ohh, Spike," she cried, her pale hands reaching out towards him. "She hurt you." She stopped just short of touching him, straightening as she did, and again her demeanor shifted. "Bad, wicked Slayer," she tsked. "She doesn't play by our rules, does she?"

Spike tensed at the mention of Buffy. "Don't know what you're talkin' about, Dru."

"Naughty, Spike," she grinned knowingly. "You whisper lies, but I see it... it's bright, all around you."

"So you've mentioned," he drawled. He sighed, starting to speak her name again, but she cut him off.

"Come with me," she murmured, her dark eyes lit with humor and hope.

"That's what this is, then?" he asked, unimpressed with this latest effort. "Answer's still the same as the last time you visited."

The spark didn't fade from her eyes, it intensified, and she grinned madly. "But the stars are different now, my Spike. You were a bad dog... switching families... but mum didn't want to play." The grin turned cold and her voice softened. "And now you're all alone."

"It's fine," he insisted tightly. "I'm fine. I'm not goin' with you Dru, so stop with the head trips. Got things to do here in SunnyD, and a family reunion isn't one of 'em, so if you'll--"

"Ah, ah, ah," she scolded. Her smile dropped into a thoughtful frown as she stared evenly at him. Dark eyes no longer familiar or innocent. "I keep forgetting. Miss Edith reminded me before, but I'd forgotten. You're not my Spike." The gleam in her eyes returned, and she clasped her hands together excitedly. "You're my William."

"So, you know, then?" he shot back, feeling defensive. Of course she knew about his soul. "Cheers for figurin' it out."

"You'll come with me?"

Frustrated, he sighed. There was once a time when he'd give anything... do anything... to be with her. To have her want him. And now her asking him to leave with her sparked nothing within. A bit of male pride in the fact that she wanted him back, but aside from that... he didn't want that anymore. He didn't want her. He loved her... hell, he'd always love her. She was his Black Beauty, the one who'd given him this unlife, but there was no desire to be with her anymore. He'd fallen in love with someone else. Belonged to someone else now. "I told you," he said gently, lowly. "I can't..."

"My William," she said sympathetically, shaking her head slightly. "Thinks he's found himself a home... pretty little light inside and thinks it's enough. Fancies himself playing among those with flashes. My poor boy, so alone... all alone in this dreadful place. You reach for her." She held her hand out, snapping it towards him. "Reach, reach... reaching... and she pushes you away. She doesn't love you, she could never love you." There was a pause. "I could never love you."

He looked up, startled at the familiar voice "Buffy?"

Buffy stood in front of him, frowning in surprise. "Spike, you're back."

"Buffy?" Well... what the bloody hell? One minute Drusilla's there, the next it's Buffy? Time going wonky or something? He didn't even hear his crypt door open, didn't feel her... couldn't feel her. Couldn't hear her heartbeat either, or the blood pulsing under her skin. He swallowed tightly, feeling his mouth go dry. "Where's Drusilla?"

She smiled mockingly down at him. "Your ex-ho bag? I don't know." There was a lengthy pause as she looked to seriously be considering his question. The pensive look faded and she shrugged. "Probably getting groiny with some other horned demon-y guy."

"No," he said forcefully, his tone flattening with his confusion. "She was just here."

"Yeah, I really don't think so."

"You're here?" He frowned, wincing inwardly at the desperation in his voice.

She shrugged. "There was a light on."

"Light?" He looked around. They were standing in the dark. "Buffy... what light?"

She ignored his question and walked up close to him, her face shadowed by the darkness. "Hey - did you know you're glowing?"

Alright, so apparently the soul didn't make _him_ mad, just everyone else around him. "Buffy--"

"Oh, well. It doesn't matter. So... how come you're back? I figured you'd stay away from here, seeing as the last time we saw each other you went all Bad Boyfriend Spike on me. But then again, you never really _were_ my boyfriend, were you?" She smiled dryly, her eyes darkening as she held his gaze. Suddenly, she laughed. "Wait - you totally thought I'd take you back, didn't you? That's why you're here, right? It's why you're back in Sunnydale. Spike tries to rape Buffy, Spike gets himself a soul, and Spike thinks he'll be _worthy_ enough."

She knew. She knew he had a soul, and fuck... he knew it wouldn't be enough. Knew it. "So you figured it out then, too?"

"Well, duh. You're all pathetic and crying." Hell, again? His Big Bad persona had officially been shot to hell. He wiped at his eyes quickly. She didn't notice, walking closer to him. "It really is kinda sweet," she admitted softly, curling her lips upward in a sultry smile. "Aww, and I bet you got it just for me, didn't you?"

He chocked back the urge to laugh. Or sob, whichever. "Yeah," he admitted tightly, feeling the tears burning behind his eyes.

"Huh." She frowned at him, then shrugged and went back to smiling. "So, what - are we supposed to, like, start dating now?"

He forced himself to swallow. "What?"

"Well that's what you probably figure, right? Buffy doesn't _not_ want Spike, Buffy just wants a soul."

"That's not... _no_." He shook his head forcefully. "It's not like that."

"Ohh, isn't it?" She lifted her eyebrows upward knowingly. "Okay. I'm sure you got it to, what? Be a better man? Do good? Fight the Good Fight?" She all but laughed as she turned away.

Her words stung, as she probably knew they would. Something wasn't right here, though. Buffy... she was a bitch, a bloody irritating bitch who'd managed to get on his every nerve... but she wasn't heartless. Not like this. "Is something wrong?" he asked her, stepping towards her hesitantly.

She turned back towards him with a casual shrug. "I'm totally wigged out, but whatever. I mean, you _did_ try to rape me before."

He winced. "About that..."

She flipped her hand dismissively in front of her. "Completely over it."

"Right. Still though--"

"Yeah, can we just... _not?_"

He tensed, stopping in his steps just in front of her. "Yeah," he decided, nodding slowly. "Yeah, of course."

She let out a relieved breath, and then looked around his crypt. "Your place is trashed, have you noticed?"

"Clem was staying here."

"Come with me."

The quickness of her words, the strength in which she said them, startled him. "What?"

"Come with me. I know just the place you can stay."

"Buffy... are you okay?"

"Completely. I just thought you'd want to get out of this place."

He relaxed, shrugging slightly. Looked around awkwardly. "Got no place else to go."

"Kinda figured," she drawled, staring intently at him. "Which is why I'm telling you to come with me."

"Where?" he asked hesitantly.

"Just this place I know. I think you'll like it. Cold, dark, empty." She looked around again and grimaced. "Like your place here, only... with less Doublemeat Palace wrappers on the ground."

He stepped in front of her, tilting his head to stare at her. Slowly, he lifted his hand to her face. He had to touch her then. It'd been so long since he had, since he'd seen her, and now she was in his crypt, beautiful as ever. "Buffy," he whispered, feeling himself being pulled closer to her. There were a thousand reasons he shouldn't be touching her, most of which all had to do with what he had last done to her. He hadn't earned this yet. The soul... it wasn't good enough. Not yet, at least. It was just the start for him to get her to trust him, to believe him when he'd said he loved her. But she was there. In his crypt, talking to him, wanting to help him, and he needed to touch her to believe that this was real.

She jerked back quick and the fear in her eyes immediately had his hand snapping back to his side. "Sorry," he muttered, backing away awkwardly. He avoided her gaze, shaking his head hard. "Sorry, I just... I shouldn't have. I knew you wouldn't..."

"Spike."

The soft tone of her voice stopped him, and slowly he looked back up at her.

"Don't you get it?" she asked him gently. "I don't trust you. I could never trust you. I appreciate the soul, I do." She stepped forward, only stopping when he started to back up again, and the smile that crept her face was anything but comforting. "It's not enough, Spike. You know that. You know I could never love you."

"Yeah," he admitted quietly.

"I guess it kinda makes your soul pointless, huh? Maybe you should've asked to get your chip out instead," she joked, laughing.

He shook his head, slow at first, and then harder with more conviction. "No," he told her. "I got the soul... for you, yeah, but... it was my choice. I wanted it."

She rolled her eyes, and then started walking towards his crypt door. "I'm sure you did," she agreed sarcastically without turning around. "Big Hero Spike, huh? Lots of things in store for you. Gee, and do you think you'll go down the same alley Angel took and start feeding off rats?" She stopped and turned around then. "'Cause I gotta tell you, that? _So_ not a turn on."

"Is that what you think?" he asked her calmly. "Think this is about Angel? This isn't a curse, love - this is _mine_. I earned it. I fought for it, to get it. I didn't piss off some tribe of Gypsies and get it forced upon me. It was never there to begin with, for you to shag outta--"

"Or rape?"

He hesitated, hurt, but continued. "It was never there to _lose_. And I can't lose it. It's mine."

"But is it enough? I mean, what happens now? You thought it'd make all the difference, and because it doesn't - what're you gonna do? Forever's a pretty long time. What are you gonna do when you get lonely? I know you're good with your hands, but..." She trailed off with a smirk, stepping closer. "Who're you going to be with, Spike? You think Drusilla's gonna take you back?" She laughed again, folding her arms across her chest. "Please, Drusilla didn't love you without it, you think she'd really want you with it? And _I_ don't want you, so... where does that leave you?"

When he didn't answer, she snorted derisively. "Of course. You didn't even think about that, did you? You're so stupid. You're gonna be alone for the rest of your pathetic life, and for what? A soul? What does your soul even mean, Spike? Are you _good_ now?"

"Get out," he muttered lowly.

"No, really - tell me. Enlighten me. What does Spike's soul mean? Does it hurt?" she mocked coldly, making no effort to leave. "Do you feel _guilty_?" She stiffened, and shrugged away those accusations. "I saw you, you know. Standing outside of my house, leaning up against the tree. God, it really didn't take you long to fall back into old, pathetic habits, did it? How long have you been back? A day? A few hours? And already you're standing outside of my house." She laughed again coldly. "Ohh, but Spike is _different_ now, isn't he?"

"Get out!" he shouted, stepping threateningly towards her.

She smiled sweetly, unaffected. "Really, is that what you want? Your crypt looks pretty lonely. You're really just going to stay here? God, even _I_ can smell us all over your furniture." She started walking around his crypt, her hand floating over his things. "Right here up against the wall, you and me. That was a good time, you remember? We couldn't even wait until we were downstairs. Not that we ever could. Underneath these rugs, you taking me on your cold dirt floor. And on top of your sarcophagus, cause hey - that's not at all dysfunctional." She stopped, and smiled mockingly. "Every girls dream, to be pounded into by her vampire lover on top of a sarcophagus."

Spike clenched his jaw. "Who are you? Cause you're not her."

"I'm not who? The Buffy you raped? No, can't say that I am. I've changed since then, Spike. I'm all grown up, did you know?"

"No," he insisted, stepping closer. "You're not Buffy. I know Buffy, and I know that she happened to like it on top of my sarcophagus," he told her smugly, enjoying the bit of visual that flashed of Buffy and him on top of said sarcophagus. "So who are you? This you Drusilla? You usin' your thrall on me, cause I've gotta say, pet - it's pretty out there, even for you."

"Drusilla?" Buffy smiled, and then her entire body quickly shifted into the aforementioned vampire. Blond melted into black, tan into pale white, and all of a sudden it was Drusilla standing in front of him again.

Spike growled. "What the bloody hell _is_ this? 'Magic always has consequences'? Drive ol' Spike 'round the bend with Ghosts of Christmas Past and Never-Had?"

"My Spike," the Drusilla in front of him cooed. "Poor little lost boy."

He stepped forward, his hands balling into fists at his side. "Get _out_."

"Nasty, Spike," she tsked, waving a finger at him. "It's not nice to speak to family like that. What would grandmum say?"

"Drusilla, whatever you're playing--"

"Drusilla?" the Mayor suddenly blinked in front of him. "The pretty little vampire you used to date? Huh, she really was a bit out of her mind," he chuckled. "Guess you always did like them a bit weak, though, didn't you? Oh well. Can't say I blame you. So - you're coming? Did they tell you? Gee, I really hope they told you - I hate it when they forget to do that."

"Will you _bloody_ things leave me _alone_?"

The Mayor frowned. "William the Bloody. I've heard about you." He started walking around the room then, openly admiring Spike's stuff. "Got to say, I wasn't too pleased when you came crashing into town -- and I mean that literally -- a few years ago and ruined my plans to take over. Sure didn't see that one coming. Then again, I didn't see a lot of things coming. Like this Buffy of ours." He stopped then, looking over at Spike. He smiled, shaking his head. "She sure creeps in on a fellow, doesn't she?"

"What do you want?" he asked tiredly.

"You're a bright young man, Mr. Bloody. You tell me."

"Right now I'm thinkin' you're just tryin' to piss me off."

"Language," he scolded. "Just because we're both dead, it doesn't mean we let our manners slip."

"So, you're dead, then?"

He shrugged. "More or less. And wrong guess, Mr. Bloody-- or do you like to be called Spike? I wasn't sure, with the soul..."

Spike clenched his jaw. "You gonna leave, or am I gonna hafta make you leave? 'Cause as fun as this game's been, I'm feelin' a bit bored--"

"Oh, is all that posturing really necessary?" He frowned, and started walking again. "I really don't think you're in any shape to take me on, Spike."

"There's where you're wrong, mate."

The Mayor shot him a condescending smile. "Alright, let's make a deal. We can do that right? You look like a business man. So, how about this: I'll leave - if you come with me."

Spike sighed. "See, the thing about you and your many different personalities, each askin' me to come with? Pretty much guarantees that I'm not. You think I'm gonna fall for that? You got somethin' to show me, use your little mojo and get it here."

"Well, it's not so much something I want to show you..." He trailed off, his body fading into that of Buffy's. "It's some place I want you to go. Spike, come with me."

"Bringin' out the big guns, are we?" he called out to no one in particular, before focusing in on the Buffy apparation. "Sod off."

"Please?" she pleaded, stepping closer to him. "I missed you, Spike. I missed you so much when you were gone. I just want to do this for you. Please?"

This wasn't right. No fair, bringing her out. No fair using those words. "Please, just go..."

"I need you to come with me, Spike. Just this one time, please. I promise it'll be okay." She stepped in front of him then, her eyes meeting his. "Don't you trust me?"

No, his entire body screamed. That wasn't Buffy, he knew it. But everything around him was so loud, everything hurt so much. The screams in his head, the voices, the way his insides ached from hunger, the constant burning in his chest from the guilt. What harm would it do to follow the sodding thing, anyway? Just to see what the hell it wanted. Maybe it was something after Buffy, and he'd be able to help. Get the dirt on it beforehand. "Yeah," he finally said, breathing out hard. "I trust you."

Her eyes lit up. "Then come with me. I know just the place you can stay."

Sighing, he ducked his head down. Decided to play along. "Do you now? And what place is this - your Watcher's bathtub? The Whelp's basement? Red's attic the next stop?"

She smiled, taking a few steps backwards. "I don't want to tell you just yet. It's going to be a surprise."

"Is it now?" he asked, and he couldn't help but smile back. Even though this wasn't his Buffy, it was still _her._ Still that girlish smile and still those pretty eyes.

She stopped suddenly, her smile fading. "Something big is coming, Spike. I can feel it. Will you help me?"

He nodded. "You know I will. I'd do anything for you, Buffy." It wasn't her, but that didn't mean he couldn't make the same promises to her. Maybe practice them. Say them to this one and then have them prepared for the real one. Mean them a bit more the second time.

"Good. Now come on. I think you're gonna like it where I'm taking you. It's got a throw-back feel to it."

She turned around and he followed. "You're not gonna even tell me where it's at? Not one little hint? Think the fact that I'm willingly followin' you and not kickin' your shape-shiftin' ass right now deserves _something_, yeah?"

Stepping through his crypt door, she paused, another one of those soft smiles on her face. "Sunnydale Highschool. Version 2."

And then she was walking again, and he was following. Sunnydale High? Why the hell not.

"By the way," she continued, looking back at him. "Love the hair."


End file.
